Time after time I came to your gate
with raised hands, asking for more and yet more.You gave and gave, now in
slow measure, now in sudden excess.I took some, and some things I let
drop; some lay heavy on my hands;
some I made into playthings and broke
them when tired; till the wrecks and
the hoard of your gifts grew imense,
hiding you, and the ceaseless expectation
wore my heart out.Take, oh take - has now become my cry.Shatter all from this beggar's bowl;
put out the lamp of the importunate
watcher; hold my hands, raise me from
the still-gathering heap of your gifts
into the bare infinity of your uncrowded
presence.
The phrase "the bare infinity of your uncrowded presence". moves me very deeply. I have been reflecting on it for a while. It is an amazing thought. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteYes, I like the idea that so many gifts hide (and reveal) the uncrowded presence.
DeleteI love this poem, I have it on the desktop of my laptop. I first read it in the living room at Loyola Retreat House, it was in a book called Place me with Your Son. I must have read it at least 20 times during that week. Finally I took the book to my room so I could read it whenever I wanted, Then I came home and ordered the book. There is something about the words that just sucks you in.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad you have it in many forms now. Yes, Tagore draws me into his sayings with his economy of words.
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